


Where the Heart Is

by tome



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkward Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-11 19:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15978665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tome/pseuds/tome
Summary: An elven mage cursed with blood thrall to demons. An unwanted bastard who never asked to be born.A land that scorned them both, forced by either good-humored fate or poor luck to rely on these outcasts in its hour of need.Two lost people create their own sense of meaning and belonging for themselves, together, as the world collapses around them.





	1. Carved Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing this story on and off (mostly off :’) ehehehe) for a LONG time now since my first or second playthrough of Origins, because I love my “canon” Warden! Never posted anything until now.
> 
> Contains slight canon divergences and plentiful headcanons. Any pulled canon dialogue is expanded upon. With all the character studying we’ll be doing, I’m half-tempted to make an exam.
> 
> Also, just be warned that there will be things worthy of content warnings in future chapters. I will tag them and explicitly warn in A/Ns when the time comes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing this!
> 
> Comments and kudos are VERY appreciated!

_This isn't supposed to be my life._

Gasping, clutching at the invisible hands on her throat, collapsed on the cold grey stone floor, covered in the blood of a traitor, Elara Surana could not help but repeat those words to herself.

“Stand down, mage!” came the voice of the templar who smote her, sounding too young and too unsteady for someone who had so much power over her.

The First Enchanter’s apprentice did not get smote. She did not befriend blood mages. She did not break into the magical repository.

_This isn't right, this isn't how it's supposed to be, this is a mistake._

“I didn't know! Please!” Elara croaked, propping herself up with her arms.

“I said _stand down!”_

A single hand motion was all it took for the man to set her blood aflame. With the  _crack_ of skull against stone, she realized she had been falling.

Drowning, unable to breathe, unable to make out the muffled voices shouting around her. Her vision swirled, tunneling and darkening, and she swore she could feel her body slipping away. Was this how she would die? Struggling, in agony, gone before she could even pray?

Suddenly, a cool wave of relief washed over her, returning the breath to her lungs as quickly as it had been kicked out of her. As her vision cleared, Elara saw First Enchanter Irving's wrinkled hand over her, bathing her in a gentle blue light.

“...the escape of a _maleficar!_ You think we should just--”

“What I _know,_ Greagoir,” Irving cut in with a sharp tone, “is _one_ successful Smite is enough to handle even the most powerful mage. Unless you plan on an execution here and now, stay your men’s hands.”

Knight-Commander Greagoir worked his silver-scruffed jaw, no doubt wanting to argue more, but instead he sighed. He raised an open palm to the three templars, his scowl remained fixed on Elara. “Stand by, men. You do nothing without my orders, is that clear?” The men saluted in response.

“Come on up, child,” Irving said gently, his normally warm brown eyes ashen and distant as he looked her over. He lowered his hand to her, inviting her to take it.

Elara blinked back the tears threatening to spill as she wrapped her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, but even with his healing her knees still wobbled underneath her weight. She still stood as upright as she could, meeting Greagoir’s harsh glare with a strong gaze of her own. “I-I didn't know he was a--” she shook her head--”He _lied_ to me,” she rasped, her shaking voice betraying her inner despair she worked as hard as she could to contain.

“Is that supposed to be your defense?” Greagoir laughed incredulously, folding his arms over his chest. “You broke into the repository and _destroyed a phylactery._ Whether it belonged to a maleficar or not, did you really think that would go unpunished?”

She swallowed and attempted to bite back the tremble in her lower lip. He was right, but he was _so wrong._ Was she really supposed to just sit back and let her friend, her best friend, the single person who had been joined at her hip since she arrived at the Circle, become a lifeless husk because of a rumor? What if they weren't right? Was that truly the _right_ thing to do?

“And _you!”_ Greagoir pointed behind her with his chin.

Lily shuffled forward, looking as dead as Elara felt. Her hair was slick to her face with sweat and Jowan's blood and all the color had left her face entirely.

“Look at all that blood mage has done already, and now he’s on the loose because of _you!_ Are your vows so meaningless to you?”

“She loved him!” Elara cried out. All eyes turned to her again, and she felt hot tears beginning to streak her cheeks. “She didn’t know, she was just--”

“Elara,” came Lily’s soft voice. A sad smile played at her lips. “You’ve been a friend, but you needn’t defend me any longer.” The initiate faced Greagoir and nodded. “I was wrong. I...I was accomplice to a...a _blood mage.”_ Her last words cracked. “I will accept any punishment you see fit. Even...Aeonar.”

_No, no, no, no._

Elara’s breath quickened. Was Lily really just...giving up like that? She would not pretend to know her, but Elara got the impression she was a person of conviction and passion. The way she twirled with dagger and mace, protecting Jowan as the enchanted guards came at them...where was that fervor now?

_I’ve killed her. It's all my fault._

Her bravery was rewarded with Greagoir’s disgusted grimace. “Get her out of my sight,” he growled. Two templars seized Lily by the arms and escorted her roughly.

“I am...greatly disappointed in you,” Irving said after a moment. He did not look away like someone younger might have done when saying the same thing; instead, he looked at her like he wanted her to see how he ached for her, how he wished things could have been different. Elara had always known him when he was old, but in this moment he looked absolutely _ancient._ “You could have told me of this plan, and you didn’t.”

_“You just threw everything I ever did for you away like it was nothing.”_

The light of his shining star pupil was dying.

_This isn’t supposed to be my life._

No, she was the First Enchanter’s _only_ apprentice. She had completed her Harrowing in record time with no issues. She was a _good mage_ in more than just her skills--courteous, understanding, respectful. She said their prayers and sang their Chant despite not much believing in the Maker herself. They said “Jump,” she asked “How high?”

Even the templars had liked her; one in particular, Cullen, seemed to _make_ time to spend with her, though he was an awkward mess of blonde curls and could barely hold a conversation. She said nothing, never “rocked the boat.” Kinloch Hold’s sense of order became _her_ sense of order. Everything done right.

And now it was all falling apart, crumbling in her hands between her fingers like the ashen remains of a charred book.

“Not only have you made a complete mockery of this Circle,” Greagoir spat, edging closer to her, “but you’ve risked the lives of everyone outside this building. Tell me, _mage,_ what do you think we should do with you?”

“Knight-Commander, First Enchanter, if I may interrupt?”

The three of them turned towards the voice. Elara recognized him from earlier--Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, standing tall with his hands folded behind his back. He spoke evenly, calmly, his voice a gentle baritone that carried further than its volume. His navy blue and silver armor scraped and clanged against the stone as he walked to Elara's side.

“I am not only looking for mages to join the king’s army at Ostagar. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens.” Duncan focused his deep brown eyes on her, his expression unreadable. “Irving, you spoke highly of this mage. I would like to have her among the Warden ranks.”

“Duncan, this mage--” Elara winced at the distance Irving put between them--“assisted a maleficar and has shown a lack of regard to the Circle’s rules.”

“She is a danger. To _all_ of us!” Greagoir shouted. “Such a mage is unworthy of joining your Order.”

Duncan exhaled deeply through his nose, his mouth pressed to a firm line. “It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need. I stand by my decision to recruit her.”

Elara blinked hard, causing more tears to spill out over her eyelashes. The Warden-Commander spoke to her tenderly, with great respect as if he admired her. But Duncan did not know--could not know--that this...this was not her life. Tomorrow was her first full day as a Harrowed mage, she had a plan, this was…

“I am a mage,” she managed in a voice barely above a whisper, clenching her fists by her sides. “My place is here, in the Circle. Th-this wasn’t...” Choking back a sob, she shook her head firmly instead of finishing her thought.

Greagoir regarded her with a raised eyebrow, a reluctant pride. “Perhaps not all our lessons have been lost after all. She knows her place.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

She met Duncan’s eyes again, surprised at the sudden edge in his voice. The man’s jaw was set firmly as he hardened her gaze at her. Were it not for the rich sepia of his skin and the dark umber of his hair, the Warden-Commander could be mistaken for the unmoving stone that composed the tower.

“You have assisted a maleficar. You must know what awaits you in the Circle.”

For a moment, Elara could _feel_ the burning of the Chantry’s lyrium sun being branded onto her forehead.

She imagined the feeling of slowly slipping away, grasping onto any bit of herself she could before nothing was left but a shallow husk of a thing that was once a person. Or, would she still feel but be totally unable to express it, watching on like an incorporeal being unable to interact with the world? Screaming but never heard?

Her vision became a narrow tunnel of static, and she nodded in understanding.

The Knight-Commander’s face turned a shade of purple she had never seen before. “If you think for a moment I’ll let you just take this mage away, I’ll--”

“Greagoir,” Irving interrupted sternly. “You have not forgotten the Right of Conscription. We must comply.”

“Worse things plague this world other than blood mages, Knight-Commander. You know that,” Duncan insisted. “I will take her under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions henceforth.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Greagoir sighed. “A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but _rewarded_ by becoming a Grey Warden.” He shook his head and cast Irving a weary glare. “Are our rules nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well, Irving.”

“We have no more say in this matter,” was Irving’s only response as he pressed a wrinkled hand to his temple.

_Is this...it? My fate?_

The tension in the air was palpable. After a moment of feeling crushed under the weight of it, Elara managed with a broken voice, “So I am to be a Grey Warden?”

Despite the sadness in his eyes, Irving gave her a tender smile. He placed two hands to her shoulders and squeezed. “Yes. Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know.”

The dam she had attempted to hold up the entire time, already leaking and fragile, fully burst. Her entire body shook under the sobs that left her, and she pulled Irving into a deep embrace. He returned her hug, an action that brought out another sob from her throat. “Thank you for everything, First Enchanter. I'm so sorry,” Elara whispered, sniffling deeply so as to not _completely_ ruin his robes.

“I know, child,” Irving said, giving her another gentle squeeze. His beard tickled the tips of her lithe ears as he pressed his head to hers for a moment.

“Come.” Duncan gestured broadly in the direction of the exit, prompting Irving to release her. “Your new life awaits.”

_I never wanted a new life._

Her steps were unsteady--whether from the Holy Smite, the shock of everything, or both, she was not sure. Duncan was quick to assist her with a firm hand to the square of her back, guiding her gently forward.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway for apprentice dormitories, Elara was greeted with herds of purple and blue robes standing behind lines of shining silverite armor at each doorway, all craning their necks to see what had happened. It was only then she remembered how her own yellow and blue Harrowed robes were stained red with Jowan’s blood.

Passing the second doorway, her gaze met eyes of honeyed brown. Cullen gaped at her from the front of the crowd, scanning her up and down.

Elara swallowed and, despite herself, gave the templar a small, shaky smile. His face flushed at that and he raised a single corner of his mouth. Cullen seemed to glance over at Duncan, his gaze focusing on the griffon emblem on the man’s cuirass, before smiling more broadly at her.

_He’s proud?_

Her own face warmed at the thought of the man who had snuck her snacks, told her stories of the outside world, and seemed genuinely to care about her being _proud_ of her. She may have been raised in a secluded tower, but she was not so naive to not know his sort of kindness was a rare thing. Elara ducked her head to hide her blush, but snuck a glance and found Cullen doing the same.

Then she remembered, he would have struck her down without hesitation at her Harrowing.

Templar. Nice or not, he was a templar and she was a mage. He would hate her if he knew what she had done.

The ashes of her former life continued to slip through her fingers. Elara felt her body become cold and rigid as she turned away to face the door ahead.

Too large, too wide, imposing rock with two halves of the sun carved into them along the middle where the doors open. Only those receiving visits were allowed past them into what they called the “Lobby.” She knew of no one who would visit her, but she had snuck peeks through the crack in the door in the rare moments they were left unguarded.

Duncan opened the doors she had been forbidden to even touch with an ease that brought more tears to her eyes. Strange how doors so mundane could hold so much power over her, but none over a total stranger.

When in the lobby, Duncan spoke to the the templars guarding the door to the outside. Though she saw his lips move, Elara heard nothing. The only sound in her ears was the quickened pace of her heartbeat and the rushing of blood.

She had not seen these doors, made of wood and beautifully ornate iron, since she was four.

The world beyond it was one she never knew. She only remembered the smell of trees she had long-forgotten the names of, the reds, whites, and golds of Chantry banners, and the robes of the Revered Mother who had found her abandoned and alone all those years ago.

It was a world that still had templars, a world full of all who feared and hated her, a world the Circle had protected her against.

Elara hugged her biceps and retracted her neck into her shoulders, her body becoming more like armor than flesh.

_This isn't supposed to be my life._

The four templars nodded at Duncan and quickly pushed against the double doors.

It was so _bright._

Burning, blinding, forcing her eyes shut tight. A word came to her mind: Sunshine. With the light came a gentle warmth to her skin. Elara shivered despite it.

The Warden-Commander's familiar hand drifted back to a place along her spine, and she felt the subtle push of a patient man ready to move.

After the brightness and the warmth, the next thing Elara noticed was the smell; crisp, like a wet towel after bathing, like the way healing magic felt. The sound of gentle splashing lulled her out of the shell she had balled into. Though her steps forward became less tentative and her shoulders relaxed, she still held herself close with her arms.

A loose strand of her hair, otherwise pulled into what once was a tight bun, tickled her cheek and nose. A breeze. Elara took in an experimental deep breath.

So this is what it felt like to breathe in the wind. She never knew air could taste so good.

“You will appreciate this more if you open your eyes,” came Duncan's soft voice. Did she hear a smile?

She ducked her head to hide her blushing face, but all that did was make him chuckle. A sharp annoyance prickled from under her skin--could he really not see how terrifying this was? How patronizing he was being? Elara huffed, begrudgingly opening her eyes.

Maker’s breath, how was there so _much_ water?

How was it _everywhere?_ Did they build Kinloch Hold atop a great communal bath for all of Ferelden? She half-expected to spot suds any moment now.

No, she remembered Cullen mentioning a “lake,” a body of water connected to the “ocean,” which covered much of the surface of the outside world. All it was, was a home for the fish she had eaten while in the Circle. Lake Calenhad was the name of this one, named after a great hero she had learned of in history lessons.

The water moved in gentle waves, lapping against the stone exterior of Kinloch. The sun made the water sparkle and glisten as it reflected off the surface, making it look like something she would see in the Fade. Elara felt like she could watch it all day, but Duncan pressed her forward.

“We will be stopping at the tavern across the lake for a short time.” He pointed in front of her to what looked like a house. “Do you see it there?”

Elara was looking in the direction, but nowhere near the house; she was staring at the sky, because _shit,_ it was so _blue,_ and so...where did it start? Or, could she follow it forever and never find the end? The mountains, towering with white peaks in the distance beyond the dense forest--if she climbed them, could she touch it? Was it deep?

_“You are luckier than you know.”_

She noticed Duncan eyeing her curiously and realized she had not yet replied. “Oh, y-yes,” she whispered, glancing between his eyes and back up to the view in front of them. “Sorry, I…”

A flock of birds taking flight from within the surrounding forest caught her chain of thought completely. Elara covered her trembling lips with the back of her hand.

“I've never seen anything so beautiful,” she breathed, wiping the rogue tears from her cheeks. “This...this is Ferelden?”

The warmth in his smile took her a little by surprise; such a firm man, treating her so kindly? She wondered absently what brought it about. “A part of it, yes, but only a small one. Unfortunately the place we are needed is not quite as majestic.” He took in a deep breath through his nose as she had done moments ago, seeming to relish in the beauty as well. “This is what the Grey Wardens have sworn to protect. Were it not for our Order, this would all be taken by the darkspawn taint.”

_In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice._

With a world of beauty like this, Elara was starting to understand what might be worth dying for.

“Take the opportunity at the tavern to bathe and prepare yourself. We have a journey, and we must make haste.”

She found an unstained part of her robes to wipe her tears on, then furrowed her eyebrows at him. “Could I not just...jump in the lake here?”

Duncan chuckled. “I admire the practicality, but the lake is far deeper than it might seem.”

She considered that for a moment, not quite convinced, before deciding to trust his judgement. She nodded and walked ahead of him, and she felt his touch slide off her.

Despite the confident skip in her step, Elara's bed called for her just behind the doors she could not bring herself to look back at. Her body, exhausted by the fighting and tears, ached and longed to meet and cuddle with her soft blankets and pillows.

The wood beneath her feet creaked with every step--an odd, but not unpleasant sound that reminded her of squeaky doors. It was loud enough to catch the attention of an older man, who had been laying on his stomach over the edge of the dock. He scrambled to stand and gave the two of them a broad grin and a wave. “Ahoy, Duncan!” he called. “Managed to snag one, eh?”

Duncan smiled politely back at him. “Ahoy, Kester. Yes, this is the new Warden recruit. She’s quite the capable mage.”

The man called Kester turned his gaze to her and his grin faltered. He raised his hands as if moving to comfort her by her shoulders. “Maker's breath, what happened to _you?”_

Elara flinched back slightly, her eyes widened and lips parted. Did she really look _that_ bad? She cast a nervous glance at Duncan.

“There was a test to be recruited,” Duncan said evenly. “It was not easy, but in the end she proved her worth.”

The smile was back on Kester’s face and he regarded her with a new pride. Though he was taller than even Duncan and broadly built, his potbelly and dimpled cheeks gave Elara the impression of a man not to be feared. “Not so bad for a knife-ear woman, right?”

_Knife-ear._

Elara remembered a templar calling her that once when she was ten. Irving had become so _livid_ at the man, immediately reporting him to Greagoir. Both of them instructed her to inform either if anyone else dared call her that again. No one ever did, surely because of the tongue lashing the two of them gave everyone.

Her hands drifted to the tips of her ears, and Kester brought his hand over his mouth. “Oh, Maker, I didn’t mean no offense! Sorry, sorry, I say some stupid stuff without thinkin’ sometimes. Really, my ol’ pap told me stories about you Wardens. Got nothing but respect for you!”

From Irving and Greagoir’s reactions those years ago, she had figured out “knife-ear” was some kind of slur, but she had no idea it was used so freely on the outside. Unsure of what else to do with the man's spluttering, Elara managed a pursed smile and nod.

“I-I should...can I start over?” Kester asked sheepishly. “Name’s Kester, and I’m your ferryman! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady…?”

Oh, he was asking her name. “Elara,” she said shyly, bowing her head to avoid his eyes.

“Well, Lady Elara, you remember Ol’ Kester when you’re killin’ them darkspawn in Ostagar, you hear?” He beamed, clapping her on the back with a wide hand and nearly knocking her into the water.

Duncan and Kester continued to discuss the situation in Ostagar as they crossed the lake. Elara barely paid attention, instead focusing on _not tipping out of the boat, for the love of the Maker and Andraste._ Void take her, but she would throw Maferath in there too if it would help her chances of not dying in her first few hours outside the Circle.

When they reached the other side after three hours of rowing, the Warden-Commander slipped Kester something shiny. She decided to ask Duncan about that later, for her primary concern was the _grass_ and how _wonderful_ the tickling blades felt underneath her open palms.

After being informed about what “coin” was and how to use it, Elara followed Duncan into The Spoiled Princess. He secured them a room and demonstrated how to draw a bath before instructing her to change out of her mage robes, handing her a tunic and trousers to change into. Elara made quick work behind the bathroom door and tossed her robes outside.

It was then she caught her reflection in the bathroom vanity’s mirror, and she could not help but bring her hand to her mouth in shock.

Her ginger hair was crusted with flecks of blood and strewn about with flyaways as her bun had started to become undone. There was a concentration of blood towards the top of her skull, no doubt where she had slammed her head on the floor after being smote. Elara’s blue eyes were red-rimmed, puffy, and bruised with exhaustion that creeped lines underneath her lids. She still had the uneven flush of crying, and there was no question now as to why Duncan insisted she bathed.

The sight of herself alone was threatening to bring her back into tears, but she resisted--she already looked and felt terrible enough, and there was no need to exacerbate the issue.

Her bath was quick, but she worked with diligence at every bit of crust she could find. As soon as she was clean, she hopped out of the tub and dried herself with magically heated hands--oh, how the Enchanters would _scold_ her for such a petty use of magic! Her thick, wavy ginger hair was back into its bun save for only two loose strands that hung around her face.

The clothes Duncan had given her were likely intended for him, she figured, as she felt the white tunic slide down her arm and reveal her shoulder. Thankful the trousers had come with a belt, she put them on and rolled up her beige pant legs so she would not trip.

Elara ventured outside in her new outfit and caught sight of Duncan by the lake. He kneeled over the water as if something had caught his attention.

Nearing him, she realized he was attempting to clean her robes with a washboard.

“Oh,” Elara cleared her throat awkwardly, overwhelmed by his gesture. “Thank you, Ser Warden-Commander.”

He seemed to find her formality amusing, judging by his small smile. “Please. You’ve more than earned the right to call me Duncan.”

She nodded with gusto and gave him a small bow. “O-oh, sorry! I shouldn’t bow either, should I, ser?” Her palm met her forehead with a crisp _slap._ “Andraste’s ass!” she swore under her breath. “S-sorry! Duncan! I’m just...I really appreciate what you’re doing.”

Duncan let out a warm, low chuckle, but kept his mechanical focus on a particularly ground-in blood stain. “I think I know a Warden you would get along with,” he mused.

“You mean in Ostagar? When will we get there?”

“Ostagar is far to the southern reaches of Ferelden. It will be about a two weeks’ journey, assuming the weather holds.” He hummed in thought. “Usually this time of year is clear, so that should not be a worry.”

“Two _weeks_ of walking?” She gaped at him. “As in, fourteen days?”

She could not recall a time when anything had been more than five minutes from her.

Jow _\--no--_ Someone she used to know in the Circle had been claustrophobic. She wondered if there was a word for the fear of the opposite, where instead of suffocating from the lack of space, one would be _drowning_ in the sheer amount of it.

_If there isn't, there absolutely should be._

The back of her head tingled as she struggled to find her balance.

“The estimate includes rest, so not exactly.” Duncan's attention became focused wholly on her as her breathing quickened and became shallow. “I’ll be using this as an opportunity to teach you as much as I can about outdoor survival.”

She had barely seen a tree, and now she had to survive within the dense forests. Cullen told her stories of bears and wolves he had seen, bigger than even him, that could kill men in a single swipe.

Oh, _Maker,_ why did she have to be born in the _Dragon_ Age?

Darkspawn, bears, wolves, and dragons were supposed to be at her mercy in two weeks? _She_ was what the men and women at Ostagar were waiting for before they took on the horde? Invisible hands reached for her throat again, pulling her down by her shoulders as they climbed, wrapping eager fingers around her neck, taking her--

“Elara,” came Duncan's soft voice through her thoughts. “You are not the first person to come to the Wardens from a Circle knowing nothing. It will not be easy, but just as your brothers and sisters did before you, you will learn.” He returned to cleaning her robes, letting the weight of his words speak for itself.

Elara realized with a shameful blush to her cheeks that she was crying.

She wiped her tears indignantly with the sleeves of her borrowed shirt and sniffed back the snot that nearly dripped from her nose. With cautious steps, Elara walked beside him and sat, hugging her knees to her chest.

The blue sky was starting to fade into oranges and reds. Kinloch Hold, standing impossibly tall in the distance, almost looked beautiful in the fading light of the sunset.

“I’ll never be able to go back, will I?” Elara asked in a small whisper, afraid of the words being spoken aloud, as if not acknowledging the situation was the same as it never happening.

The only sounds between them for a few moments were gentle splashing and her robes being scrubbed against the metal ridges of the washboard. He wrung the robes one last time, shook them out as he held them to the sky, and gave them a scrutinizing glare a few times over. Soaking wet, but hardly a stain left. Handing her the wrinkled, dripping robes, Duncan finally spoke. “You will carve out your own place in this world.”

A sharp jolt of annoyance went her through her heart as she received the robes. “You don’t think I already did?” Elara asked, the beginnings of an edge to her voice forming.

”I do,” he said evenly. “And I believe you will do it again. You’re a part of a bigger picture now, one where your gifts will not be wasted. Both Irving and I agree there is far more for you here than there ever was among the Circle of Magi.”

Did he really believe in her that much? Elara sat in a stunned silence, staring blankly at the Circle robes in her hands.

The more she breathed in the dust-free air around Lake Calenhad, the more Elara began to feel...something. Words failed her in describing the feeling, but it was one that had been creeping on her since she first stepped out the doors--one that broke her heart while lifting it up to the skies. A mournful hope.

Life at Kinloch Hold had not been easy, but it had been simple; now, with an entire globe before her, everything was complicated. Especially her feelings.

Suddenly, Duncan rose to his feet and extended a hand, which she gladly took and brought herself up. “You can change into your robes before we leave, if you’d like,” he said, giving her a once-over. “But if you do, you must be quick so we can cover some distance before nightfall. We will be on the road in no more than ten minutes.”

So it was finally happening. Elara’s heart fluttered in her chest as she considered his offer, her eyes drifting between Kinloch, her robes, and the path ahead of them. It was probably more proper of her to wear her robes, but inspired by her ability to actually move her legs comfortably...“I don’t need to change. Let’s just get on with it,” she said with a small smile.

Returning her smile, Duncan nodded. “Then let us be off, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed it or have any other comments/questions/concerns, I would love to hear it!
> 
> Either way, see you all next chapter!


	2. Sensory Overload

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm overwhelmed by the support and feedback I got from the first chapter! You guys absolutely rock, and I'm glad you all like Elara so far! 
> 
> If you want to learn more about Elara, check out my tumblr [fen-harel.tumblr](http://fen-harel.tumblr.com). Please be aware of untagged spoilers in text posts/asks featuring her! Also, if you're feeling froggy enough, you can follow me on there and learn whenever I post new chapters or new fics (or an occasional doodle)! I'm also fairly active on there throughout the day, so it's the best way to reach me if you have any questions.

It was three days before Elara's feet stopped bleeding into her boots, five days before she could properly set up a tent without Duncan’s assistance, and eight days before she successfully caught her first game in a trap she’d made.

Every moment was something new with Duncan. She was hesitant to call their trip “fun” because the blisters on her callusing feet ached with every step, but she found herself enjoying most everything they did as they traveled along the crumbling marble of the Imperial Highway. She’d felt coarse druffalo fur between her fingers, listened to accents she could hardly understand, and met an _actual dwarf_ who had scolded her for gawking.

But her favorite part? It was when nightfall came and they hopped off the Highway to camp for the night. As Elara stared at the smattering of stars she never thought she would see in person, every bit of frustration seemed worth it. The warmth and earthy smell of the crackling campfire soothed her soul as she watched the flames dance around each other.

There were times when she nearly forgot where she came from, when the grief in her heart was silent and her racing thoughts stilled. Those were the moments she lived for. The closer they got to Ostagar, the further they got away from Kinloch Hold and all that she lost.

On the fourteenth day, however, she woke in her tent before the crack of dawn with a nausea that all but overwhelmed her.

Ostagar was only two hours away.

Duncan had mentioned an initiation process she was to take before becoming an official Grey Warden. He had been vague about it, only saying it was part of the reason Wardens were so secretive and selective. Any other questions about it she asked were met with “You’ll see soon enough.”

Elara decided to wear her Circle robes today in preparation for the ceremony. If it was as complicated as Duncan was implying, it was best to be prepared with more than borrowed street clothes that billowed about her.

Her legs shook as she stumbled from her tent. Sure enough, Duncan was already wide awake and preparing the fennec she had caught the day before. The man never seemed to sleep much, if at all, and she couldn't help but wonder how he could march like he did. He gestured for her to take a seat next to him. Despite her anxiety, the smell of meat cooking over their fire called to her. She gladly helped herself.

As they chewed on the fennec meat in silence, Elara's thoughts drifted. To the Blight, to Jow-- _stop, is he okay, please let him be okay, don't, I could really use him right now, why didn't he trust me, stop_ \--to Kinloch Hold, and back to the so-called Joining ritual.

_“Not so bad for a knife-ear woman, right?”_

A question had repeated itself in her mind since hearing that back on the docks, eating at her all the while. With her initiation but a few hours away, Elara could no longer hold it.

“Am I at a disadvantage?” she blurted.

Duncan furrowed his brow at her and swallowed his bite of food. “I’m afraid I don't follow.”

“For this ‘Joining’ thing,” Elara said quickly. “I just...I don’t understand why my being an elf and a woman is so strange to people.”

“Ah.” He sighed and rubbed wearily at his eyes. Perhaps the lack of sleep was getting to him more than she’d thought. “No. It takes all kinds to defeat the Blight. Are you familiar with Warden Garahel?”

“The Grey Warden who ended the last Blight? Yes, why?”

“Did you know he was an elf from an alienage?”

Her eyes widened. “No, I…” She moved her mouth wordlessly for a moment as her brain drew a blank. In all of her teachings in the Circle, she never thought the non-magical lessons were incomplete for her. “Why didn't I learn that?”

“I can only assume it is because of the way elves are portrayed in Ferelden's culture,” said Duncan. He stared at the path ahead, looking pensive as he seemed to choose his next words carefully. “Slavery is illegal here, but there are still invisible shackles that bind many. I suppose if one is used to seeing someone as beneath them, then believing anything else is not easy. Perhaps this is one such case of ignorance.”

Elara found her appetite beginning to slip away from her. She worked her jaw and glared at her all but untouched fennec. “But if an elf can easily do what a human can...then why am I still seen unworthy?” She sighed, feeling heat grow in her chest. “It doesn't seem fair,” she grumbled.

“It isn't.” Duncan's response was a simple one, but said softly and with a hint of an emotion Elara couldn’t identify. After swallowing the last of his breakfast, he met her gaze with a fire in his eyes. “But you mustn’t let it cripple you. Let it _temper_ you and make you stronger. In the face of adversity, you _must_ remain with your head high. It is necessary in order to survive in this world.”

He spoke with an all but breathless urgency, not with the careful dispassion he often acquired when she had been curious about his opinions before. It was the most emotion she had seen from him the entirety of the two weeks they spent together.

And it was emotion _for her._

Elara wiped a tear from her eye before it could fall. “But it hurts,” she whispered, feeling a lick of shame in the back of her mind at the admission.

The firmness in his face softened to something tender, and in that moment, despite the darkness of his features and the glint of silver from his armor, he looked just like First Enchanter Irving. “It will not be easy. But you must try. The world is harsh and expects you to adapt.”

The Grey Warden-Commander of Ferelden did not owe her this, yet he gave it to her freely.

Could someone as weak as her really thrive in this world? Duncan seemed to believe so. But was that enough?

Taking another bite of her now-cold breakfast, Elara reluctantly nodded.

They fell into a comfortable silence--a regular occurrence for them throughout their trek, with neither being one to bother. She inhaled the smell of the morning dew and watched the sky grow brighter with the sun’s rising. Duncan’s attention was focused on the fire, but he didn't seem to be actually looking at it.

“One of the best women I know is an elven mage from a Circle,” he said suddenly. A wistful, distant smile curved his lips as he spoke. “We were Joined together, years ago. She is an admirable woman, and we had each other through...just about anything one could think of.” Duncan chuckled and shook his head, she assumed at some memory. Before she could ask about it, he continued. “There are many well-respected elven men and women in the Order, and I recruited you because I believe you will join their ranks with ease. We would be honored to have you.”

She tried to suppress a smile, but the more effort she put into it, the worse she failed. “Thank you, Duncan.”

His own smile grew a little and he gave her a single nod.

Within minutes, the two packed everything and were back on the Highway.

Throughout their entire trip, the actual hiking was spent mostly in silence. The final stretch was no different. Elara had figured out quickly that Duncan was not much a man for idle conversation. Fine by her. The trills of songbirds and the chitters of squirrels were enough to occupy her attention.

Still, she often wondered what he thought of when they went hours without speaking. Did he truly think only of the darkspawn approach? That couldn't be, judging by his story of a friend and the fact that he always had answers ready for anything she asked. It was nevertheless odd for her to imagine a man so hardened by service doing anything else.

For that reason, Elara asked, “How did you become a Grey Warden?”

It took Duncan a few moments to respond. “Our stories have some similarities.”

“You defiled a Circle, too?” she prodded, her tongue in her cheek. “Ferelden is smaller than I thought.”

He shot her a pointed glare that seemed more amused than stern, but said nothing more.

Though she teased him, Elara felt she understood what he meant. She imagined him younger, foolish, getting himself caught up in something only being conscripted could save him from. The thought was almost humorous when she looked at him now with all his thoughtfulness and wisdom.

Perhaps she _could_ believe him after all.

Two hours seemed to only take two minutes in her nervous excitement--the pines gave way into more open fields, and soon Elara spotted a tower that stretched from the base of the horizon.

 _Ostagar._ The true start of her new life. A passing thought of hers wondered if Duncan would mind if she vomited. A different passing thought rolled its eyes.

As they approached, Ostagar breathed breezes that brushed Elara's skin. She shuddered, but not because of the southern chill; even from the distance of the Imperial Highway, the sounds of life hummed around her. They had come across other people as they trekked, but never more than a few merchants at a time. Nothing that prepared her for the dozens upon dozens of figures teeming around the ancient pillars.

She swallowed as she took tentative steps forward with Duncan at her side. He seemed to notice her hesitation and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“We will begin the Joining process soon, but when we get inside, you have a task,” he said. “There’s a junior Warden by the name of Alistair who will be accompanying you and the other recruits for the ritual. You must find him and the others to prepare for the first step.”

Already down to business? The ground seemed to spin beneath her. “A hot meal might be nice first,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“Of course,” he chuckled back. “There is time for you to settle as well. But the ritual must be completed before nightfall, so don’t dawdle.”

“Ho there, Duncan!”

A chipper voice called from ahead. A man clad in glistening golden armor approached them with a broad grin on his face. With the armor, his fair skin, and his platinum hair, the man all but glowed with a faint halo around him. He seemed nothing but regal.

“King Cailan,” Duncan replied, immediately lowering into a deep bow. “I didn’t expect--”

“A royal welcome?” Cailan barked out with a laugh, clasping Duncan’s shoulder with a firm, gloved hand. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss out on all the fun!”

_Oh. More than just regal. The sodding definition of regal himself._

“Not if I could help it, Your Majesty,” Duncan said with a light chuckle.

Cailan beamed at him. “Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!” His gaze shifted towards Elara, and though it was nothing but friendly, she felt as if it could pierce right through her. “The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?”

Elara scrambled into a bow herself with a strangled yelp she prayed His Highness could not hear.

“Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty--”

“No need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all,” Cailan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ho there, my lady! Might I know your name?”

She swallowed and managed to twitch her mouth into half a grin. “Elar-Elara, Your Highness.”

“Ah, Lady Elara! A pleasure.” He took her hand and pressed gentle lips to her knuckles. _Maker’s breath,_ was this a normal thing for Fereldans to do? “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them. I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?”

“I-I’m only recently out of my apprenticehood,” she said quickly, an awkward giggle bubbling out of her. Cailan's smile flickered, sending her heart leaping into her throat. “But-but I will do my best, of course!”

The king chuckled lightly and flashed her a toothy grin. “Of that I’m sure! The Grey Wardens only recruit the best, and we’ve too few mages here. I’m glad to have you and your magic in the battle! Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar.”

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty!” Elara bowed at him once again, eliciting another chuckle from the man.

_Didn't set his hair on fire, at least._

Cailan glanced up at the sky with a frown and sighed. “Ah, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

With the introduction out of the way, Duncan and Cailan discussed some finer details about men and places she had never heard of.

Despite Duncan’s wry amusement at the king’s loftiness, Elara found herself mimicking Cailan’s smile as he spoke of heroes and legends. Her heart fluttered in excitement; she was going to be part of _history._ What a novel feeling, and _she_ got to feel it. She wondered if her name would be remembered like Garahel's. Maybe they would even remember she was an elf.

Cailan sighed once again, knocking himself and Elara out of their daydreaming. “Now, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!” With a wave and a bow of his own, Cailan turned back towards Ostagar.

As the king strolled away like he was walking on the clouds, Elara felt a small wave of relief. “I didn’t realize things were going so well!” she chirped.

Duncan didn't look at her, instead staring off towards the vast, ruin-strewn forest due south, his mouth hammered into a hard line. “What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here.”

Her smile faltered as she searched his face to figure out what emotion he was feeling. The man was totally unreadable when he wanted to be. Anxiety prickled at the back of Elara's mind once again. “Yet you don’t sound very reassured.”

“Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us,” he said gravely. “I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

Elara pursed her lips in thought. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

“Absolutely,” Duncan replied with a single solemn nod. “We sent a call to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, and hope they will reach us before the archdemon does. We simply don't have the presence needed in Ferelden. But to that end, we must proceed with the ritual. I must go handle other preparations, so I leave you on your own for now. Find the others and come to me for your next step. Are you ready?”

What a loaded question, she wanted to say, but she found her throat simultaneously too thick and too dry to speak. She could only swallow and nod.

“Good. I leave this to you, Elara.” Duncan bowed his head slightly and walked ahead without her.

It was as if the weight of responsibility literally, physically strained her body, and Elara couldn’t move outside of wringing her hands together. As Duncan’s figure shrunk more with distance, her breathing quickened.

She had never been alone.

The Revered Mother who rescued her as an orphan insisted she was alone then, but age wore those memories down until they were nothing but fleeting images and smells. It may as well have never happened.

From the moment she was found, Elara never knew solitude. There were always the Enchanters, the templars who stood at every corner, and the apprentices all crammed into bunked dormitories. Then there had been Duncan, always watching and teaching as they trekked towards her new life.

And now, there was no one but her. No one to guide her to the next steps. No one to catch her should she fall.

Elara screwed her eyes shut and hugged herself by her biceps, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

 _No,_ she thought sternly at herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get the feeling back in her legs. _Duncan didn't save me because he thought I would fail._

Her legs quaked beneath her, but she walked forward anyway.

 _“It will not be easy. But you must try.”_ Elara repeated Duncan's earlier words in a mantra under her breath as she approached the main archway into Ostagar.

Elara, of course, had heard many stories of the grandiose Tevinter Emperium; it was what the Chantry always mentioned before describing the Emperium’s greed, excess, and sin as a “gotcha.” But seeing the ruins of a once-flourishing fortress in person? The true scale of their hold over the world was luminous. Marble archways the height of centuries-old trees, statues the size of small homes, and a tower--the first thing she saw of Ostagar--with a peak that surely could part the clouds in the sky. The hold’s stone skeleton crumbled and cracked, but even she could see it was a more than worthy fortress for the battle.

Her first step into the grass of camp, however, was coupled with a fluttering on her skin. Elara shuddered as the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. It felt as if she had wind blowing around her in constantly changing directions, but as light as the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

She knew this feeling well--it was the Veil, the too-thin barrier between Thedas and the Fade, shifting and flowing through her. Being away from the tower for as long as she had, however, the Veil’s twists and turns seemed to take her stomach with it.

While it was common magical knowledge that the Veil was weaker in places like Ostagar where there was death and destruction in great magnitudes, something about the displacement here felt familiar to Elara. Like there were... _patterns_ to it. Deliberate, meticulous, paths well traveled.

Curious, Elara turned the corner.

Vibrant purple Circle banners. The harsh, grainy, mildewy smell of lyrium that made her nostrils curl. Unmoving templars guarding shepherded mages surrounded in twisting, glowing light.

She remembered now. Kinloch Hold had sent mages and templars to join the king's army for the upcoming battle.

Elara suppressed a scream and pressed her body behind a pillar. The bile in her stomach threatened to spew from her mouth as she tried desperately to swallow it down.

_Surely Irving or the Knight-Commander sent them a letter._

Her heart thrashed against her rib cage. Duncan had claimed her into his custody, she knew, but _what if they recognized her?_ The Knight-Commander only _barely_ allowed her to leave. She wasn't a Warden yet, so couldn't they change their minds? Could they make her Tranquil right then and there?

Ducking her head, Elara broke into a sprint past the mage encampment. Weaving between the royal tents, the large bonfire, and the faceless soldiers trudging around her, she struggled to find room to breathe.

 _How could so many people exist in such a small space?_ They walked too loudly, talked too loudly, sodding _breathed_ too loudly for her to hear her own thoughts. Instead of words, her mind filled with images of the battle set for tomorrow evening. The smell of iron and sweat, the feeling of being pressed against strangers dying against her at all sides…

_Oh, Maker._

She realized suddenly she had no idea where she was. In her panic, she'd been too focused on running to pay attention to _where_ she was running to. But Elara didn't dare look back--she _couldn't._ Looking back would admit to them she saw them, that she knew her guilt.

“You there, elf!” came the shout of a man over the _clank clank clank_ of metal being struck by hammer and the jumble of her thoughts.

She didn’t realize he was addressing her until he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her aside.

Elara yelped and squirmed against him, which only seemed to make his grip tighter. “Where is my armor? And why are you dressed so preposterously?” He gestured wildly at her robes, his grimace turning into a scowl as he glowered down at her.

“Are...do you think I'm your servant?” Elara squeaked tremulously.

“Wha--?” The man’s gaze settled on the staff strapped to her back. Immediately, his scowl dropped into unadulterated horror and he released her as if she were made of fire. “O-oh. You--er, you're the one who came here with Duncan. The mage.” He fumbled out an apology that made Elara feel even more awkward in the process.

“Perhaps you should treat your servants more kindly,” she muttered, rubbing where he’d clutched her with a small healing spell.

“Y-yes, of course. You're very right.” He cleared his throat. “Did you...come for some supplies, perhaps?”

Somehow, her heartbeat thrummed even louder and quicker as she looked over the shelves of weapons and armor. She wondered what it would feel like to have a sword driven through her.

“I-I...I should go,” she blurted before immediately turning around on her heel and speeding away in the other direction.

Her running eventually led her to an open area, only occupied by a long table off to the side and a marble pathway to her right. Elara slumped down on the path’s incline, struggling to take in deep breaths as tears stung her eyes.

What was she doing here? Who did she think she was? Why did she let Duncan believe in her?

“...I was even going to name one of my children after you--the _grumpy_ one!”

_What in the name of Andraste?_

The voice, accompanied by another’s shouting, wasn't far behind her.

Elara scrambled to her feet and walked with soft steps towards the direction of the arguing until two men came into view. Her attention hyper-focused on one of them: a tall, heavier man wearing vibrant gold Enchanter robes with an elaborate staff brandished at his hip. Panic reignited in her gut as the air forcefully left her lungs. Time to go, _now_ and _quickly._

Moving for her tactical retreat, however, the familiar sight of silver and navy caught her eyes.

Duncan?

No, the man beneath the armor was significantly younger and his features were a swath of warm, ruddy beiges and browns.

Alistair?

The Enchanter shouted once more at the Warden before storming off, forcing Elara to leap out of his way to avoid getting struck.

“You know,” the Warden said with a contented sigh that didn’t seem genuine, turning to face her with a wry smile, “one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

She gaped at him. Elara never expected a Warden that _Duncan_ trusted her with to be so odd. Was this _really_ Alistair? He couldn't possibly be much older than her, and the way his lips were curled into a boyish smirk hardly fit with his heavy armor. A Grey Warden making jokes?

But in a way, she realized, he was right.

If the battle wasn’t happening, if the Blight wasn’t looming over the entire world, Duncan would not have been at Kinloch Hold. And if Duncan had not gone to Kinloch Hold exactly when he did…

The only thing in this bizarre version of her reality that allowed her to even know this man existed was the Blight.

Was it wrong for her to be thankful for it?

Elara laughed--an uncontrollable, chaotic thing that took her entire body with it. The Warden seemed pleasantly surprised at that, if confused. She couldn't blame him; his joke wasn't _that_ funny, and surely he could hear her bitterness seeping from within.

But still, she laughed until she managed to compose herself with an exaggerated sigh of her own. “I know exactly what you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear your feedback! Good, bad, or ugly, feedback fuels me.
> 
> The next chapters going forward should be updating MUCH sooner. I have been distracted by playing Skyrim for the first time as well as increasing workload from my classes.
> 
> Thanks again, guys! Tune in for chapter 3, coming sooner or later!


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